


Like Fire and Water

by sussexbound (SamanthaLenore)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, True Love, body swapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaLenore/pseuds/sussexbound
Summary: Aziraphale sits up beside him, and when there is only silence, Crowley glances over to find him staring at him and looking rather pleased.  “I would never have imagined you the type to commit holy scripture to memory.”“Yeah, well…  Song of Songs.  A little racy for the Bible though, isn’t it?  Who’s idea was that, anyway?  Was it yours?”“Don’t be ridiculous.”  Aziraphale tuts, but there is a suspicious flush to his cheeks.Crowley grins.  “I’ll be damned.”“I most certainly hope not.”“Well, you’re a little late there, Angel.”Aziraphale sighs, and stares back out the window.  “Somehow I doubt you’ve brought me here just to regale me with your knowledge of erotic scripture.”“Mm, right.  I have a plan, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”“You’d best tell me, don’t you think.”“Yeah.  Alright.”  He glances over at Aziraphale, waits for him to meet his gaze.  “We hide—in plain sight.”





	Like Fire and Water

**Author's Note:**

> This is me just starting to dip my toe into the Good Omens fandom. *waves* Hello. 
> 
> Totally unbetaed, and still trying to capture their voices, but I was so moved by this series and this book, and these beautiful, ineffable husbands, that I just had to write a little something.
> 
> For those who follow my johnlock content, update on my current WIP (JtHYC) is still on it's way next weekend, as promised.

“Oh.It’s very tidy, isn’t it.”

Crowley doesn’t know what to say to that.He watches Aziraphale instead.The way his eyes travel over the clean minimal lines of his flat.It’s important to him, he realises.It’s important to him that Aziraphale approve.And isn’t that just the bloody, living end!He considers throwing the angel out on his fastidiously dressed arse, for a moment, and then catches himself for a fool.He’s the one who invited him here, after all, after all this time.Finally.

Aziraphale is here, under his roof, under his wing where he’d very much hoped to tempt him from the very beginning.

It’s what he wants. 

It’s what he’s always wanted.

Aziraphale’s eyes take in the dark concrete of the hall, they fall for a moment upon the Bernini Crowley had had commissioned centuries before.Beautiful piece.Sublime, really.Good and evil locked in their eternal struggle, naked, wings unfurled, limbs tangled, muscles straining with the effort.Evil triumphing—obviously.

Aziraphale’s eyes flit away and then sweep down the length of the corridor, and light up.

“Your plants.You never told me you still had an interest.”

Crowley feels something in his chest expand with pride.He shrugs.“Well, you know.It’s a—hobby.”

“Oh no, not at all.”They’ve reached the room in question, now, and Aziraphale is taking in the the assortment of green growing things with the same sort of rapt joy he seems to focus on everything that truly catches his interest.He looks like a child in a sweet shop at the holidays—cheeks pink, eyes wide, the small smile that Crowley can never seem to inoculate himself against lighting up his every feature.

He reaches out for a leaf of the Monstera Deliciosa and then snatches his hand back with a breathy laugh when it pulls away, trembling with its usual distrust.“May I?”

Crowley nods his assent, and Aziraphale reaches out again, stroking the leaf tenderly.It trembles beneath his touch, for the briefest of moments, but then, no doubt sensing that this visitor is something altogether different from its keeper, shivers and leans in, brushing up against the angel’s cheek like a needy cat.

Aziraphale smiles, catches Crowley’s eye, and blushes ( _blushes, the bastard!_ ) before looking away again.

“You should be a little kinder to them, Crowley.You would get better results.”

“Better re…These are some of the finest houseplants in all London, I’ll have you know—Angel.”He puts particular emphasis on the title.Yes, he wants Aziraphale here, but best not let him think that means he’s somehow come out on top.No, no.Oh no!

“Lovely.Yes.But one _does_ catch more flies with honey.”

Aziraphale moves on into the next room, the study, trails his pale, perfectly manicured hands over the desk, the globe; lingering caresses down the spines of Crowley’s books.Crowley watches rapt, shivers a little before he can suppress it, thinks that maybe, just maybe he could get used to this—the angel in his space, in his things, everywhere, all the time.

Aziraphale steps into the kitchen next, seems to appreciate the shiny modern appliances, most of them unused.Crowley has never been as fond of food as Aziraphale.The kitchen is a bit of a show piece, really.He’s never paid it much mind.But Aziraphale is opening the wall ovens, smoothing his hands over the heavy cast iron grills on the hob.“You must let me cook for you.”

Crowley shrugs off the suggestion as casually as he can manage, but Aziraphale just smiles in that knowing way he has that makes Crowley feel as though he needn’t bother pretending.But then maybe they’re not pretending anymore, not after everything that’s happened.

“We should come up with a plan.”

Aziraphale has moved on down another hallway toward the bedroom.“Yes, I suppose we should.”

“None of our people are going to be very happy.None of them are just going to let things lie.”

“I imagine not.”

“Well…?”

“A bedroom?Do you actually use it?”Aziraphale’s eyes lift to his, wide and earnest.

Crowley grins.“For sleeping, you mean?”And when Aziraphale blinks and looks away almost shyly, and with a tiny, exasperated shake of his head, Crowley grins even wider.“I do, in fact.”

“But why?”

Crowley shrugs.“It’s a bit of a lark.Nice sometimes; things just stopping.”

“Oh.”Aziraphale nods like he understands, but Crowley is fairly certain he’s never slept a day in his life.

“You’ve never tried it?”

“Well, I was rather busy, what with all the blessings, and miracles, and…”

“And temptations, and curses, and indulgences.Mmm, yes.”Crowley hums knowingly.“No rest for the wicked.I know.”

Aziraphale’s mouth pops open in a look of mock effrontery that Crowley finds more endearing than he has any business doing.

“But really, one should try it at least once.”

“Mmm…”Aziraphale seems to consider it.“I suppose one should.”

“Plenty to do tomorrow.Sleep now.Plan later.”

“Oh you mean…”

“Yes…”Crowley drawls.

“Oh, well that’s rather.”

“Brilliant.Yes.I thought so.”

Aziraphale sighs.“Yes.Fine.Alright.” 

He enters the room and reaches out to poke at the mattress with one finger, before turning and sitting down on its edge, hands folded primly in his lap.“I’ll just lie down then?”

Crowley smiles, and finally lifts his sunglasses from his eyes.“One usually disrobes.”He draws it out, a lovely little sibilant on the first syllable.

“Does one?”

“Oh yeah.”

Aziraphale is looking at him like he’s more than aware of his game, and Crowley finds himself breathless with what he might do next.“Well, do feel free.”And with that Aziraphale lays down on the mattress, on his back, crossing his legs at the ankles and folding his hands over his belly.

Crowley frowns, and then rolls his eyes and does the same.

They lie side-by-side and stare up at the ceiling.

“it’s like you said last night,” Aziraphale offers.“They’re likely to act soon.”

“Sooner rather than later,” Crowley agrees.“Won’t end well.”

“Probably not.”

“Got a plan, Angel?”

“I was rather hoping you did.”

“Afraid not.”

“Pity.”

“Mm.” 

They fall into silence.Outside a nighttime rain begins to patter against the plate glass window.

They’d done it.They’d had a hand, no matter how small, in thwarting Armageddon, each for their own reasons, and there will be repercussions, that is certain.For Crowley it had been purely selfish.He’s grown rather comfortable with the way things are, with little temptations, here and there, punctuated always with his run-ins with Aziraphale.And in the last few decades, or so, he’s found himself preferring a long string of those run-ins, punctuated, as rarely as possible, with bouts of real work.

He’s become somewhat fond of the world, of the messy humanity of people, and of Aziraphale, who is as much a part and parcel of it all as anything else.Perhaps the main attraction, really.

He sees Aziraphale turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye.

“I never did thank you.”

“Thank me?”Crowley keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling.

“For saving the book—Agnes Nutter.”

“Yeah, well…”

“No.We needed it, and you had the wherewithal, to rescue it.”

Crowley decides not to mention the fact that ‘rescuing’ the book had had nothing at all to do with stopping the apocalypse, but Aziraphale seems to read his mind anyway.

“Yes, yes, I know.Souvenir, you said.But you would, wouldn’t you.And whatever your reasons, it was very—good of you.”

“I’m a demon, Angel.I’m not _good_.”But it doesn’t have the usual venom.It’s comfortable in the room, and the quiet patter of the rain is soothing, and Aziraphale smells like cinnamon, and vanilla, and clove, and his arm is pressing against Crowley’s, and it hums with an energy that seems to soothe rather than burn.Crowley feels sleepy.

“Good of you all those years ago, too.”

A warm hand comes to rest atop his, and Crowley tries not to look like he cares, tries not to make it evident that every atom in his body has just perked up and and started to glow.

“In the church, during the blitz.”Aziraphale clarifies.“You saved me.You saved the books too.”

“I saved us.The books were just—extras.”

“Yes, well…”Aziraphale’s hand tightens around his for a moment.“it was very thoughtful.”

And Crowley realises, suddenly, for the briefest of moments, he has lost track of where his body ends and Aziraphale’s begins.The place where their hands lie joined on the coverlet, is warm, thrumming, and when he stirs his fingers he doesn’t quite feel it, as though he’s partially disincorporated, as though…

And that is when the plan comes to him.

“Have you read The Song of Solomon?”

He feels Aziraphale’s fingers stir and then still between his.

“Are you referring to the novel by the American, Toni Morrison, or to the biblical…?”

“Yeah.That.”

“I have.”Aziraphale clears his throat.His fingers remain twined with Crowley’s. _“As an apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among young men. With great delight I sat in his shadow, and his fruit was sweet to my taste. He brought me to the banqueting house, and his intention toward me was love. Sustain me with raisins, refresh me with apples; for I am faint with love. O that his left hand were under my head, and that his right hand embraced me!_ I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the gazelles or the wild does: do not stir up or awaken love until it is ready! _”_

“Precisely,” Crowley whispers.

“It’s lovely.”

“True, but I was rather thinking of…”He withdraws his hand from Aziraphale’s, sits up and hugs his knees to his chest as he stares out at the dark. _”Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave.Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame.Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.”_

Aziraphale sits up beside him, and when there is only silence, Crowley glances over to find him staring at him and looking rather pleased.“I would never have imagined you the type to commit holy scripture to memory.”

“Yeah, well…Song of Songs.A little racy for the Bible though, isn’t it?Who’s idea was that, anyway?Was it yours?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”Aziraphale tuts, but there is a suspicious flush to his cheeks. 

Crowley grins.“I’ll be damned.”

“I most certainly hope not.”

“Well, you’re a little late there, Angel.”

Aziraphale sighs, and stares back out the window.“Somehow I doubt you’ve brought me here just to regale me with your knowledge of erotic scripture.”

“Mm, right.I have a plan, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“You’d best tell me, don’t you think.”

“Yeah.Alright.”He glances over at Aziraphale, waits for him to meet his gaze.“We hide—in plain sight.”

Aziraphale’s brows lift.“Well, I suppose I should be relieved that this is a step above running off together in the middle of the apocalypse.Explain.”

“My people are going to come for me.I wager yours are going to come for you too.Might be safer if they don’t get quite what they’ve bargained for.”

A small wrinkle forms between Aziraphale’s brows.“What?Like that Trojan Horse situation?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Looks like us.Sounds like us.Not us?”

“There you go.”

“Oh.I see…”

But Crowley isn’t sure if he does, quite.

“You did say you wished you could inhabit my body.Here’s your chance.”

Aziraphale, who had gone back to staring out at the rain, snaps his head back ‘round at that.“What?”

“I’m saying we switch.You in me.Me in you.”

Crowley watches Aziraphale’s adam’s apple bob in a dry swallow.“I’m not sure we can.We probably shouldn’t.And besides, even if…”He trails off, swallows again, and drops his eyes to the coverlet.“It’s never been done.”

“Mmm.”

“It might destroy you.”

“Might destroy you, too.”

“Yes, well…It’s a ridiculous idea.We don’t even know how.”

“Two becoming one.A bit like breathing, I imagine.Humans do it all the time.”

“Yes, but we’re not human,” Aziraphale reminds him.

Crowley just shrugs.“After all this time down here?Close enough.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks have gone crimson.It’s distracting.“Angel…”Crowley tries, much more carefully than he usually would.

“It doesn’t work that way for us.You know that.”There’s a slight tremble to Aziraphale’s voice. 

Crowley shrugs.“Could do.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks go even pinker.“And you’re right.I don’t like your plan.It’s—it’s too risky.”

Crowley sighs.“I trust you.”

Aziraphale’s face does a myriad of things at once, only half of which Crowley can interpret.There’s worry, and confusion, and possibly even fear there, and that won’t do.That won’t do at all.

“I trust you,” he repeats.“Besides, if you’re going to go up in a puff of smoke, or I’m going to melt into a pile of goo, wouldn’t you rather it be at each other’s hand?”

He sees Aziraphale consider it. _“Flashes of fire, a raging flame…Neither can floods drown it.”_ He murmurs, almost as though to himself.

“It’s just you and me now.Just us, for ourselves.Shouldn’t we at least try?”Crowley presses.

Aziraphale sucks in a deep breath through his nose, lets it out slowly.“Yes.We should.Yes.”He turns to face Crowley, quite suddenly, as though he’s made a decision and is determined to see the thing through.He crosses his legs, rests his hands atop his knees.He turns them over, palm up in invitation, and Crowley turns so his knees are pressed against Aziraphale’s, too, slips his cold hands over the angel’s soft, warm ones.

“Crowley, you must promise to tell me if—if it’s not right.”

“Well, I imagine it’s bound to be a little ‘not right’.Won’t work otherwise.”He winks, but Aziraphale just looks worried.

“You know what I mean.If—if there is pain, or panic, or anything of the kind, I…”

Crowley’s mouth curls into a crooked grin.“So considerate.”

“I’m not, I mean I try to be, but it’s just that no one’s ever tried this before—that I know of—and things could go—pear-shaped.”

“Fine…I promise.”

“Good.Good.”

Crowley squeezes the hands in his, just a little.“On we go, then.”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath.“On we go.”

Aziraphale closes his eyes, so Crowley does the same.The truth is he doesn’t know how to do this.There is only the vaguest of instinct, the tiny hint of something shifting he’d had a few moments before with Aziraphale’s arm pressed against his, and their fingers meshed together, a floating, shifting, heady feeling, a melding, meshing slide toward one another.A fullness.A heat.

He tries to focus on it again, on the warmth and weight of the angel’s hands in his, on the sound of their breathing, slowly synchronising, and tries not to think about the way he suddenly feels weightless, giddy, raw, laid bare, exposed.Aziraphale’s grip around his hands tightens.It’s not painful, but it’s firm and sure, like he wants to make sure he won’t lose him.

Crowley’s eyes bite, and he’s tempted to pull away, to walk away from the whole ( _silly, stupid, horrible_ ) plan, but that would be foolhardy, he thinks.Whether he likes it or not, his initial instinct was correct.Their people will want retribution for an unwanted intervention of this magnitude, and there’s nothing for it.No matter what happens here, now, between them, it is better than what might happen if they don’t at least try.He would risk discorporation, even utter destruction if it meant that Aziraphale might walk away from the whole mess unscathed. 

“I believe you need to come closer.”Crowley’s eyes snap open at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice.It’s gentle, and slightly breathless, with the sort of boyish awe and curiosity that Crowley has always found so charming.

“Closer.Right.”He unfurls his long legs, and drapes them over the top of Aziraphale’s thighs, even as Aziraphale uncrosses his to slip beneath.His hands are on Crowley’s hips.He pulls him closer, and Crowley stops breathing.

“There.That’s better, I think.”The tone is light, but Aziraphale’s eyes are locked on his, and he—he’s…Crowley can’t remember how to breathe.

“And the two shall become one flesh,” Aziraphale whispers.

Crowley opens his mouth to say that he may have been quite wrong, that it isn’t instinct after all, that they aren’t human, and he’s not up to the challenge, and he can’t quite…

Aziraphale’s hands slide up his back, pull him in, press their corporeal bodies together, and with a shiver and a sigh he melts against Crowley, presses his face into his neck, and breathes.He’s a warm weight against Crowley’s chest, in the crook of his neck, and the taste, the scent of him is everywhere.

It’s miraculous.

The breath Crowley takes, quivers on the inhale.He wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, presses his nose into his hair, and wonders at the burning in his eyes.It’s strange sensation—euphoric and grounding all at once.It pulls somewhere in his centre, a little like lust, but different.

He feels the shift when it starts.It’s easy, in the end.A slight slip sideways, a bit like the whispering glide of a perfect landing.It’s the surge of feeling that catches him unawares.He wasn’t anticipating the love.Not like this.Not the magnitude, the strength, the weight the sheer enormity of it.He wonders, for the briefest of moments, how Aziraphale can exist like this, so full of it all the time.Crowley has always found the weight of the emotion he has for Aziraphale to be a heavy enough burden, but this—this is something altogether different.

“Oh.”He hears himself say.“Oh, I didn’t realise.”

He pulls his face from the crook of Aziraphale’s…No—from his own neck.

Ahhh.They’ve managed it then.

He’s looking at himself, at his knit brow, and his mouth cocked into an amused and curious grin that is so very Aziraphale it is odd to see it on his own face. 

“Do I really look that?”

“Yup.”So odd to hear his reply in Aziraphale’s voice.He frowns over at his own hair.“Shit, what a mess.”He reaches out to rearrange it without thinking, and watches as his eyes (Aziraphale’s eyes) slide shut at the contact.When they open again it’s with a smile.He reaches out to adjust the bowtie at Crowley’s throat.

“There.Tip top.Can’t have you going out all askew.”

“You feel like this all the time?”Crowley asks.

“Mmm?”

“This.”He motions down at the body he isn’t used to yet—anchored and earthy.Well fed.Perfumed.Impeccably groomed.Anachronistically dressed.

“It’s me.”

“Yeah, I know it’s you, but you’re so…”

Crowley watches an eyebrow on his own face rise in question.

“You’re so full of— _love_.”He finally manages.

“As are you.”It’s soft and filled with wonder.“I—I hadn’t realised.”

Crowley feels his new cheeks heat.Perhaps it’s physiological, then.Aziraphale just blushes easily.Because Crowley most certainly does NOT blush!“Didn’t you?”

“Well…”So strange to see his own eyes staring back at him with such fondness, with that little twinkle that is all Aziraphale.“Perhaps a little.”

“Don’t go telling anyone.”

“Of course not.Our little secret.”Aziraphale winks at him through his eyes, and Crowley feels a fresh surge of love wash through him.

“Will it stick, do you think?”

“Mm?” Aziraphale is looking down at his new body, running his hands over the accordion of Crowley’s ribs, reaching up to rub at the short hair at the nape of his neck.

“If we sleep, will we wake up like this, or do you think we’ll switch back?”

“Oh.I—I don’t know, really.It’s almost dawn.Let’s stay up.Get up.Go stand over there.”

And Crowley does as he’s told.

“Now turn around,” Aziraphale orders.

He does.

“You know, I don’t think I like the cut of those trousers on me.I really must see my tailor when all of this is through.”


End file.
